


pine nuts and the full spectrum of human emotion

by theundiagnosable



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, i just. really like weddings and tropey romantic comedies you guys., reporter/photographer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 11:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14043027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable
Summary: “Mother of the bride cried and showed me baby pictures,” Mitch says. “Nakedbaby pictures.”Auston’s screwing the lens cap back on his camera, but he shoots Mitch a wry smile. “Drunk groomsman puked on my shoes. I win.”Mitch makes a face, but he passes Auston a crumpled five dollar bill.





	pine nuts and the full spectrum of human emotion

**Author's Note:**

> another day, another cheesy nonsense fic based on a newspaper headline i guess https://www.thestar.com/life/relationships/opinion/2018/03/17/being-a-wedding-journalist-is-tough-when-youre-heartbroken-and-single.html

It’s always nice to show up at a wedding and find Auston working, ‘specially one like this. It’s really over the top, this old church full of even older ladies in fancy hats, the whole shebang. Kind of intimidating, or it would be, without a familiar face.

Mitch can hear Auston’s camera clicking out in the hall, forces himself to focus, ‘cause the music’s going to start any minute and this is always when he gets the best quotes.

“You said you’ve been together for three years,” he says, leaning in. The groom, Andrew, is practically shaking out of his shoes, keeps glancing at the door. “Can you tell me what you were thinking, first time you saw her?”

Andrew smiles, only a little shaky. “I just- I know it sounds crazy, but I knew. When you know, you know, y’know?”

So maybe Mitch’ll get quotes from the bride, later.

“Thanks,” he says, as the music starts up outside their little room. “Seriously, good luck, man.”

Andrew returns Mitch’s smile, joins the crowd of groomsmen by the door. They’re all hugging, maybe getting a little teary-eyed, and this part of Mitch’s job is pretty much over, so he tries to make himself unobtrusive, just looking down at his notepad. They’ve been a decent group, as far as church weddings go. Real obliging, practically clamouring to talk to Mitch for the article in the social pages.

And it’s kind of funny: no matter how many times he does this – and it’s a lot, almost every day since he got this job – it never stops being a little bit magical, to Mitch. The looks on everyone’s faces, the music as they all file in. This happy, excited energy in the whole place.

God, he’s jealous.

The wedding’s pretty standard. Simple vows, the couple’s parents crying the whole time. Flower girl trips and falls, which is a decently adorable photo-op for Auston, if nothing else. Mitch sits patiently at the back, claps along with everyone else when they do the ‘you may now kiss the bride’ thing.

The aisle is packed, ten zillion family members trying to meander their way out. It takes a while, but Mitch finds Auston lingering by one of the stained glass windows and squeezes through the crowd to get to him. He’s big enough that he sees Mitch coming over people’s heads, lifts a hand in greeting.

“Hey, man.”

“Sup.” Mitch flashes him a grin, joins him by the window while everyone files out of the church. Mitch gets right to business. “Mother of the bride cried and showed me baby pictures,” he says. “ _Naked_ baby pictures.”

Auston’s screwing the lens cap back on his camera, but he shoots Mitch a wry smile. “Drunk groomsman puked on my shoes. I win.”

Mitch makes a face – “Ew.” – but he passes Auston a crumpled five dollar bill. They’ve been betting on worst wedding experience for almost two years, ever since they started bumping into each other at half the weddings in the city.

It’s fun. Something Mitch can look forward to other than listening to people talk about how in love they are and being confronted with his own eternal single-ness, at least.

Auston falls into step next to Mitch as the crowd finally thins enough that they can get to the door. “You sticking around?” he asks, conversational.

“Gotta head to city hall,” Mitch says. “Some MP getting a special feature.” 

Auston hums. “Exciting.” He says it pretty neutral, so Mitch knows he’s imagining that Auston looks a little disappointed. No reason for that.

“ _So_ exciting,” Mitch says, cheery, and bumps Auston’s hip with his own as they head down the front steps. It’s sunny out, nice this late in the summer. He’s glad he opted out of the suit jacket today. “Have fun being paparazzi, though.”

“Have fun without your five dollars,” Auston teases, bumping him back. He has that light in his eyes that he gets sometimes, a smile tugging at his mouth like it wants to be bigger than it is. Took Mitch six literal months, to get that smile out of him.

“Asshole,” Mitch says, very congenially.

“Dick.”

“Barf shoes,” Mitch retorts. An old lady behind them coughs disapprovingly, which, they’re not technically even in the church anymore, he’s definitely allowed to swear. He meets Auston’s eyes and sees him pressing his lips together, trying not to laugh.

Right. He works for these people, today.

Mitch elbows him one last time, like _can you believe these old farts_ , and then Auston’s getting called over by the wedding party for more pictures.

Mitch smiles all the way to his car. Would probably keep smiling, except then he’s just sitting there in his 2003 Honda with a broken radio, watching the happy couple hugging on the lawn in front of the church, all wrapped up like no one exists except them.

His car seems extra quiet, after that.

\---

Thing is, see, Mitch knows love. Mitch _loves_ love, ‘cause he spends his life writing about it and talking about it and seeing people on the happiest days of their lives, looking at each other and just knowing they have their person. He wants that like he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything, that- that certainty, that magical movie moment where the music swells and flower petals are falling and he just _knows_.

It wears a guy down, is all, watching that moment happen to everyone on the planet except him.

Still- it’s his job, and Mitch isn’t great at a lot of things but he’s a fucking good reporter, so he does the city hall thing and plants himself on the couch with a microwave dinner and the TV on in the background, transcribing today’s interviews and trying to cut his article down to two hundred words so he can send it off to Patty before his deadline.

He’s typing out the bride’s vows when Auston texts him this dorky picture – it’s Mitch interviewing the maid of honour before the ceremony, and he looks all derpy, tongue sticking out between his teeth while he scribbles down what she’s saying, completely unaware that Auston’s taking his picture. _so professional :),_ Auston captioned it, with this little smiley face that makes Mitch smile right back at his phone, like an idiot.

 _what can i say matthews im a model,_ he sends back. He can picture the way it’ll make Auston roll his eyes.

It kind of hits him, then, that he’s sitting on his couch at 9:30 on a Saturday night, watching preseason hockey and texting the guy he sees at work sometimes.

Mitch needs a life, maybe.

\---

Between Patty planning for his big anniversary thing in October and managing the entire lifestyle section, and Mo neck-deep in some piece about sidewalk expansion in the suburbs, everyone in the office is more stressed than usual, so Mitch volunteers to do the coffee run.

It’s kind of messed up right from when he places his order, because he has to pay in quarters after he pats down his pockets and realizes he gave his five dollars to Auston yesterday, but- fine, whatever, the cashier at Tims has to do some math. It’s fine, not a big deal, and then Mitch turns around and some guy walks right into him and spills his drink all over Mitch’s shirt.

It probably says something kind of lame that Mitch’s brain immediately goes to ‘meet-cute’ but it does, and it’s _such_ a good meet-cute, because the guy is tall and decent looking and seems all embarrassed at spilling his drink on Mitch, and not to be horrifically extra, but this is exactly the kind of story that gets told at weddings all the time.

“Hi,” Mitch says, a little dazed.

 “Hi,” the guy says, and he’s staring right into Mitch’s eyes; or like, he is until he looks right past him. “Babe, you made it!”

Mitch turns, sees this like, model-looking lady waving at him from by the entrance.

Meet-cute guy, who is apparently not meet-cute guy anymore, has the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry, are you-”

“I’m fine,” Mitch says, waving him off and grabbing at the nearest napkin dispenser to dab at his shirt. “You’re good, don’t worry about it.” 

“Thanks, man.” The guy claps Mitch on the shoulder, all bro-like.

Mitch feels like how he thinks a deflated soccer ball feels, probably. Like- he’s not the one who spilled a coffee on a stranger, but he’s embarrassed anyways, if only at the contents of his own brain, and it doesn’t go away when he skulks back to the office and gives the guys their drinks.

“You okay, Mitchy?” Patty asks, all concerned.

No, ‘cause he’s the biggest idiot in the world and going to die alone. Mitch gulps back his coffee. “Awesome.”  

\---

“D’you think there’s a time limit?” he asks, next time he and Auston end up at the same wedding, nearly a week later. “For finding someone?”

Auston’s doubled over, adjusting something on his tripod, but he looks like he’s thinking about Mitch’s question before he answers. “Romantically, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Mitch says, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching Auston work. They’re out in the foyer, but he can hear the music from inside the banquet hall, loud. “Y’know, like- like if you don’t find your person at a certain point, you’re just never going to?”

Auston kind of laughs. “I didn’t pick you for a cynic,” he says, all bemused. “Can you get in the shot? I want to see if it’s in focus.”

“I’m not a cynic,” Mitch says, getting to his feet and walking around so he’s standing in front of Auston’s whole photobooth setup. There’s a nice backdrop and everything. “I just figured it would’ve happened by now.”

“By now,” Auston echoes. He’s teasing, Mitch thinks, but not in an asshole kind of way. “How do you know it hasn’t? Step back, a little.”

Mitch scoffs, but does as he’s told. “I’d know,” he says. “People always know.”

“Right,” Auston says, and Mitch kind of gets the impression he’s getting made fun of, a little, but not in a dick way.

“Right,” Mitch agrees. “’sides, I’ve been waiting forever, it’s not- at this point, I’ve just got to be completely unattractive to every human ever.”

Now it’s Auston’s turn to scoff, and he evidently gets the shot he wants because he straightens up and meets Mitch’s eyes. “You don’t actually believe that.”

Mitch shrugs, and Auston gets this weird look on his face, like he’s maybe about to say something, but before he can, the doors to the banquet hall fly open and half the wedding party comes streaming towards the photobooth.

Mitch lingers, for a while, but Auston gets pretty preoccupied. Cheesy props and instant film are basically crack for wedding-goers, is the conclusion here, so Mitch watches Auston work for a little while – his eyebrows get all frowny when he’s focused, it’s cute – then heads back into the reception to mooch some appetizers and interview some guests.

\---

_(you aren’t_

Mitch blinks at his phone, halfway through rewatching _What’s Your Number_ for the fourteenth time. Auston doesn’t text first, usually. Or like, more than once a month. _lol what?_

 _unattractive_ , Auston sends, and it’s like- vaguely weird, because they aren’t that close, really, but. Nice, too.

Mitch isn’t exactly sure what the appropriate response would be, so he just sends Auston a bunch of poop emojis back, and Auston sends _gross_ , _marner,_ and it’s-

Mitch doesn’t know. It’s just a nice thing. )

\---

“We broke up, like, six different times,” one of the brides for today is saying, while Mitch scribbles down her words. “Like- it definitely wasn’t easy.”

“True love never is,” Mitch quips. “That’s like. Shakespeare or something.”

Jess laughs. “Right, but the weird thing is, since the first day I saw her, something about her, I just-” She breaks off, kind of shrugs. “Is it cliché if I say I knew?”

“Not at all,” Mitch lies, and- he’s happy for them, really, and they invite him to stick around for cake and drinks, which is really kind of them, but-

Ugh.

\---

Mitch wins five dollars from Auston Matthews four times, falls in love with and is immediately heartbroken by three separate strangers, and listens to Mo complaining about his sidewalk exposé for literally two weeks straight.

He’s had worse, would maybe be dwelling more on the heartbreak thing if he wasn’t run off his feet with the end of season rush, multiple weddings a day. He wonders if people realize that there’s no actual rule saying they have to get married in summer.

“This couple,” Auston says, when they finally get a chance to talk for more than a second, and Mitch is nodding before he’s even done.

“Holy shit, I _know_ ,” he says, leaning in all conspiratorial. “The one guy asked if I could get them on the front page, like-”

“He said I wasn’t getting his lighting right,” Auston says in, just, the single most disdainful voice Mitch has ever heard, and he looks super unimpressed, but he smiles when Mitch laughs.

“Price of success in the fickle wedding industry?” Mitch offers, reaching out to snag two champagne glasses off a nearby waiter’s tray.

Auston accepts one of the glasses, still has time to shoot Mitch a look, raised eyebrows. “I thought the price was sleep and all my artistic dignity?”

“That too,” Mitch says, and he sips from his champagne – the expensive stuff, awesome – and bites back a grin as he does, ‘cause Auston’s maybe the most deadpan human being he’s ever met, and it’s always a good time. “God, I like- weirdly missed hanging out with you this week?”

He kind of just- says it, doesn’t overthink it. It makes Auston look at him kind of startled, though, so maybe he should’ve.

“That’s-”

“Yeah, it was weird, sorry-”

“No,” Auston says, firm. “No, I- same here.” Then, abrupt and kind of blurted out, “So you like the Leafs, right?”

“How do you know that?”

“You had a tie a few months ago.”

“Observant,” Mitch says, approving, and Auston kind of huffs a laugh.

“Literally my job, but thanks.” Mitch turns to grin at him, and he has to do kind of a double take, because Auston looks- nervous? Or as if he’s bracing himself, at least. “Hey, if you wanted, we could-”

“Reporter man!”

They both jump, turning to see one of the grooms – insisted Mitch call him Willy – staggering towards them. The guy’s utterly plastered, which would be obvious even if it wasn’t for the literal glittery tie he has knotted around his forehead like a bandana. Auston snaps a photo, right up close, and Willy ignores him, just leans right in and smacks a kiss on Mitch’s forehead.

“You,” he announces, dead serious in the way that only drunk people are, “are adorable. _Adorable_. If I wasn’t married, I would tap that.”

Fucking summer wedding people.

“Oh, wow,” Mitch says, when he remembers how words work. He’s a pretty big personality himself, but William Nylander is something else. “Um. Thank you?”

He can see Auston’s face out of the corner of his eye, all red like he’s going to explode from trying not to laugh. Asshole.

“Write a good article for me.” Willy pats Mitch on the head, turns around like he’s scanning the dance floor. “Someone play some Abba in here!”

Mitch wipes off his forehead and sighs. Auston hands him a five dollar bill without saying anything.

“We never speak of this again,” Mitch says.

“You’ll lose next time anyways,” Auston chirps, and elbows Mitch. His cheeks are still flushed from laughing, and his eyes are all crinkly ‘cause he’s smiling so big, and he should look like this more often, because it’s a fucking awesome smile.

Hard for Mitch to stay annoyed, after that.  

\---

 _what do u like_ , Mitch texts him the next morning, when he remembers the conversation they were having before getting interrupted.

Auston responds fast, like always. _what?_

 _u know i like the leafs_ , Mitch sends. _so wbu_

It takes a couple minutes of typing, and Auston must delete and restart his answer more than once, because when it comes it’s only two words.

_taking pictures_

This guy, seriously. _ok but what else??_

 _dogs?_ Auston sends, and Mitch sighs.

\---

Auston perches on the bench next to Mitch while he’s waiting for the bride to get another mimosa for their interview, a couple of days later. “Ring bearer tried to steal my car keys.”

“Bridesmaid thought I was a stripper and ripped a button off my shirt,” Mitch counters, and Auston passes him a five dollar bill without arguing. Mitch tucks it into his pocket. “Everyone likes dogs, by the way.” Auston looks confused, so he clarifies. “When I asked you what you like. You cheated, Matthews.”

“Didn’t,” Auston says. “Hi, by the way.”  

“Hey,” Mitch says, and grins at him, but doesn’t give in. “Did too, though.”

Auston rolls his eyes, but he also stays next to Mitch, even though this is probably the only break he’s going to get all day.

 “What do you like that’s so original, then?” he asks. Sounds genuinely curious, too, hardly even sarcastic.

“Other than-”

“Other than the Maple Leafs, yeah.”

“Rom coms,” Mitch says, decisive. “Like movies. I like those.” Auston nods, and doesn’t even make fun of him, which is a nice change from everyone else ever. Mitch stretches out his legs, pokes at the grass with his toes. “Your turn.”

“Sun,” Auston says. Barely even pauses, this time. “It never gets really sunny here.”

“It was fucking thirty degrees a month ago,” Mitch protests, and Auston shakes his head.

“Not the same as home,” he says.

“Arizona, right?” Mitch asks, and Auston nods.

“Arizona.” He holds Mitch’s gaze just for a second, and Mitch gets the feeling that they’re teetering on the edge of something, because it’s not as if they’ve ever really been professional, per say, but this is capital-P Personal.

Auston looks away, and Mitch thinks that’s going to be the end of it, but then Auston says, “Your turn.”

Mitch smiles.

And it’s hardly even a conversation, just trading dumb facts about themselves before they have to get back to work, but it continues over text that night, and then the next morning, and then it sort of just- doesn’t stop.

\---

Mitch’s desk is taken over by a bunch of dusty old books and file folders when he gets into the office, and it’s not like he really uses it anyways, but just on principle, he flings an elastic band at Mo’s head.

“Not cool, Morgan.”

Mo takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. Doesn’t even react to the elastic band thing. “This piece is _murdering_ me. Did you know there’s a six volume set of bylaws about sidewalks?” he asks, a little desperate. “I wish I was lying.”

“Me too, buddy,” Mitch says, and shoves a bunch of sidewalk blueprints off of his chair so he can sit down, rummaging through his bag for his phone and notes from today.  

 _do u have opinions on sidewalk bylaws_ , he texts Auston, before he starts. They’ve been talking almost every day, since the park, even when they don’t have an event together. It’s becoming a habit, a little bit.

“I wanted to be a _novelist_ ,” Mo is lamenting, and Mitch makes a vaguely sympathetic sound in his general direction before tuning him out.

 _literally all the opinions_ , Auston replies almost right away, plus a picture of the sky like he just took it this second. It’s the sort of very distinctly Auston message Mitch is kind of getting used to. Kind of looking forward to, honestly, because it’s been a while since he had a friend his own age and Auston’s a decent texter, once you get past the sixteen layers of trying to be chill and attempts to communicate via photography.

“Hey,” Mo says, and Mitch looks up, startled.

“What?”

Mo does a long-suffering sigh. “I _said_ , I think someone sent you flowers? The guys downstairs said to tell you earlier.”

Mitch is out of his seat before Mo’s even done his sentence, heading for the door. He can’t even pretend to be lowkey about this, ‘cause his mind is racing as he takes the steps two at a time – it’s gotta be from some secret admirer, maybe someone who saw him on the job and fell for his journalistic ethics or baller wedding style or- he doesn’t know, but he’s at least twenty percent in love with them already.

 _Flowers_. That’s romantic shit, right there.

He skids to a stop in front of the secretary’s desk. “Mrs. DeLuca, hi, Mo said you had a delivery for me?”

“Mitch!” She beams up at him over the tops of her pointy glasses, and Mitch has to wait through the update on how her grandkids are doing and complaining about newfangled online news and how is a nice young man like him still single, and normally he’d be down to make conversation, but today it’s absolute _torture_.

It’s a million years before Mrs. DeLuca finally remembers why he came downstairs and gets his flowers and- like, wow, it’s a really nice arrangement, roses and a card and everything. The handwriting’s really messy cursive, hard to read, but Mitch manages to make out the message, _Just a little surprise before the big day! I love you so much, thank you for 15 years!_

His stomach starts sinking halfway through, because he doesn’t think anyone he’s known since preschool would really be sending him flowers, and that’s confirmed when he flips over the card to read the address.

“This says Marleau, Mrs. DeLuca,” he says. “Not Marner.”

Mrs. DeLuca peers at the arrangement, squinting through her glasses. “Oh lord, I see that. My eyes have been getting so much worse, recently. You know, my optometrist recommended laser? I hear that that causes cancer.”

She doesn’t stop, once she starts on the laser cancer thing, and Mitch- he just stands there, holding flowers that aren’t for him and were never going to be, and the fucking universe is laughing at him, it has to be.

He’s so, so sick of _waiting_.

\---

“We always joke,” says the bride of the day, “that our story’s like- have you seen _When Harry Met Sally_?”

“Great movie,” Mitch says. He’s not even writing down what she’s saying, just recording her on his phone and doodling on his notepad. She doesn’t notice, too caught up in gushing about the whole ‘happiest day of her life’ thing.

“You know when you just- you meet someone, and you’re just sort of destiny from there on out?”

 _No_ , Mitch thinks, admittedly somewhat bitterly.

He forces a smile. “Sure,” he says. “That’s great.”

\---

( _when harry met sally is a super fuckin overrated movie_ , he texts Auston later, entirely sans-context, and Auston replies with _is that before or after deathly hallows_ , and it’s a stupid joke, probably, but it cheers Mitch up at least a little.)

\---

Mitch knows that Auston likes terrible memes, video games, and baseball by the time they both end up at this huge Italian wedding outside of the city. Objectively kind of useless knowledge, but the kind that’s fun to have, especially when he can tease Auston to his face about liking the worst sport ever instead of over text.

“It’s so _boring_ ,” he says, when he’s helping Auston unload all his camera gear from the car. “Like, out of literally every sport-”

“It’s fun,” Auston corrects, but he’s grinning at the teasing. Hands Mitch a bag to carry. “Just gotta give it a chance, Marner.”

“Literally never, Matthews,” Mitch says, shouldering the bag. It’s heavy, like Auston’s planning to singlehandedly photograph every square inch of this place. He couldn’t blame him – it’s completely gorgeous, this lakefront property with like, wildflowers and lace and every wedding cliché ever. “Supposed to rain, y’know.”

“Romantic,” Auston says, wry.

They make their way in together, and then the bridal party swoops in and steals Auston and all his camera stuff, and that’s the last Mitch sees of him for literal hours. Not like he even has time to dwell on it: the wedding is _huge_ , and the groom’s mom is some kind of exec at the paper or something, so the feature on this wedding is taking up pretty much all of Sunday’s social pages, which means Mitch is spending the day talking to as many people as he possibly can.

It’s fun, having a big project like this. Nice that Patty trusts him enough to handle it, and Italian nonnas keep giving him amazing food, right up until the ceremony.

Auston’s crouched at the front, taking a million pictures during the procession. He’s doing his serious face, all focused. Gives Mitch the smallest of smiles when he catches his eye during the vows, and he’s backlit by the sunset even as the clouds roll in, kind of glowing.

Mitch breathes out a laugh, happy without being entirely sure why. Some of the people sitting next to him look at him a little funny, but he just listens to the couple talking about how much they love each other, doesn’t even feel bad for himself, for the first time in forever.

It’s days like this, everything coming together, when he remembers why he loves his job.

\---

Collecting quotes at the reception is something of an art form. It’s delicate business, getting people when they’re drunk enough to give entertaining interviews and not-drunk enough that they can still form coherent sentences. Mitch is kind of an expert, at this point, and he gets real into it, fills, like, half his notebook and doesn’t notice Auston sneaking up to him until he gets blinded with a camera flash. 

“Christ,” Mitch complains, rubbing at his eyes halfheartedly while Auston smirks. “’sup, slacker?”

Auston holds up his camera, turned so Mitch can see a picture of himself, half-blinking. “Not a bad picture, man,” he says, and Mitch makes a face.

“Yeah, right,” he says, and he’d continue, but Auston’s jostling him towards the door. Not one for subtlety, this guy. “Where’re we going?”

“One in the morning,” Auston says. “I’m off the clock.”

“Some of us still have to work,” Mitch teases, but he doesn’t anymore, really, so he lets Auston lead them out into the hall. The music fades to a dull roar, once the door’s closed behind them, and for the first time since the party moved inside, Mitch can hear the rain pounding against the windows. There’s the occasional flash of lightning, too, the last of the summer storms coming out in full force.

“You were right,” Auston says. He sounds quiet – Mitch didn’t realize they were yelling to hear each other over the music until they weren’t anymore. “About the rain.”

“I’m always right,” Mitch says, and Auston just rolls his eyes then straight up sits down on the floor like he ran a marathon or something.

“Pictures are hard,” he says, plaintive, and it’s bratty enough that Mitch has to laugh and sit down next to him.

“Dork,” he says, fond, and Auston doesn’t even respond, just yawns.

Their dress pants are going to get all wrinkled, sitting on the ground like this, but that’s what they do, just sit next to each other and listen to the music over the sound of the storm. It’s a slow song, now, something Mitch can’t quite make out.

He glances over at Auston. He’s checking his phone, tie loose, sleeves pushed up around his elbows.

“Dance with me,” Mitch requests, without really thinking about it. He doesn’t know who he surprises more, himself or Auston.

“I-” Auston says, then, after this weird moment of floundering, he settles on, “I don’t dance.” Then, before Mitch can open his mouth, “Don’t quote High School Musical.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Mitch lies, but he bumps up against Auston. “I think you should dance with me, though.”

“Oh, well in that case,” Auston deadpans; then, when Mitch doesn’t look away. “Still no.” 

“Dance with me,” Mitch says, and stands up, shakes his shoulders a little with the music, all goofy. “Dancey dance dance-”

“Saying the word ‘dance’ a million times isn’t going to make me dance,” Auston says, but he’s doing that tiny secret smile again, so Mitch knows he already basically won this one.

“D-d-d-dance,” Mitch beatboxes, and kind of shuffles a little bit in place. Now Auston’s laughing for real, in spite of himself, it looks like.

“Who even are you?” he demands, eyes all crinkly. “Seriously?”

“C’mon,” Mitch says, holding out a hand and trying his best to look charming. “I’ll give you five dollars?”

Auston fixes him with a look, the kind that probably would’ve been intimidating before Mitch figured out what a spectacularly huge dork the guy is, but, after a mini staring contest, takes Mitch’s hand. “Only because I like winning.”

Mitch tugs him to his feet, backs up so they’re in the middle of the hall where they have a little more room. “You leading or me?” Mitch asks, and Auston looks completely confused. “Okay, me,” Mitch says, and waits for Auston to move or do, like, something, but he just stands there. “Earth to Matthews?” 

“I don’t know where to put my hands,” Auston admits, and Mitch has to fight a smile as he moves Auston’s hand down to his hip.

“There you go,” he says, and there’s this moment of- not awkward, fully, but something close, this sudden self-awareness that comes with being in someone’s space for the first time. Auston’s got pretty big hands.

Auston coughs, a little uncomfortable. Doesn’t pull away, though. “When I said I don’t dance,” he says, and Mitch gets the feeling he’s talking to fill the quiet, which is more endearing than it has any right to be. “It was moreso that I, uh. Can’t.”

Mitch breathes a laugh, and Auston grins all self-deprecating, and any lingering awkwardness vanishes, poof.

“It’s easy,” Mitch promises. “Match my steps, ‘kay?”

“Oh god,” Auston says, like Mitch is making him walk on hot coals instead of move around in a little square, but he gives it a try anyways.

And, okay – Auston wasn’t kidding about not being able to dance, but the sheer amount of effort is really something. He looks like when he’s taking pictures, all intent, and Mitch gets kind of caught up watching him, so it takes a while for him to realize that the song’s changed.

And Auston’s trying so hard, and it’s a really nice moment, only then Mitch recognizes the new song, and-

He giggles, and then it turns into something like a cackle, and the more he tries to hide it, the more he can’t. 

Auston looks at him, and his grip kind of tightens on Mitch’s waist. “What’d I do?”

“We’re just- we’re slow dancing to Hot in Herre,” Mitch explains, when he can talk, and Auston does- Mitch doesn’t even know, this objectively awful snorting laugh, totally helpless, and that makes Mitch laugh more, and they’re just kind of pressed up against each other, shoulders heaving with laughter while Nelly sings about how she wants to take her clothes off.

“This is so-”

“I know,” Auston gasps, taking his hand off of Mitch so he can wipe at his eyes. “Oh my god, like-”

“I know,” Mitch says, and he leans his head on Auston’s shoulder, trying to get a grip. “Aw, man.”

It takes him a while to get close to something like seriousness, and they’re just sort of hanging onto each other, not even really dancing anymore. When Mitch draws back to look at Auston, Auston’s already looking at him.

Their foreheads are almost touching, and Mitch- he can’t quite get his brain to focus enough to make a joke, at the moment.

“I think you’re getting the hang of it,” he says, just to say something. “You’re not bad, Matthews.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mitch says, and Auston holds his gaze, and all of sudden he’s- he’s really close, _they’re_ really close, and there’s this weird, infinitely long moment where Mitch would swear he sees Auston’s eyes flicker down to his lips, only then-

Then he doesn’t see anything at all, because the lights go out and all the music stops.

“Wha-” Mitch says, startled. Auston lets go of him, so Mitch figures he’d better do the same. He can hear all the guests in the main room complaining, and a quick glance around shows – or, like, doesn’t show, because it’s pitch black – that the whole place is in a similar state.

Auston’s face appears, blueish in the light from his phone.

“The storm,” he says, and he’s looking very pointedly not at Mitch, even though he definitely can’t see anything else. “Must’ve killed the power.”

“The storm,” Mitch echoes, a little dumb, and they’d maybe stand there like that for the rest of the night, except his reporter-brain kicks in and reminds him that this is the kind of scrappy, overcoming the odds wedding story that’ll get him on the front page, or at least on the front page of the website. “I should- I need to get people talking about this, for my article.”

“Right,” Auston says, after a second. “Right, I- yeah, I can get some sick pictures like this. Candles and shit.”

“Romantic,” Mitch agrees, and he smiles, even though he’s not sure Auston can see it. It’s- there’s something lingering, something Mitch can’t quite name, and he heads back towards the reception before he can give himself the chance to try.

\---

The bed sharing thing is incidental, really. A side effect of the storm, because the dirt roads get washed out and the government puts out a severe weather warning, so that takes driving back to the city off the table; then literally every room at the place is full with wedding guests except the single-bed suite Mitch and Auston end up sharing.

So the bed sharing is incidental, and, in a pleasant surprise, not as awkward as it should be. Like- uncomfortable, maybe, physically speaking, because neither of them has pajamas so they’re still in their suits; and there’s still no power so the place is dark and somewhat eerily quiet, once the stragglers from the wedding pass out. Less quiet, once they get settled in and start watching _10 Things I Hate About You_ on Mitch’s laptop. It’s at thirty percent battery, and Mitch figures either they’ll finish the movie or fall asleep before it dies.

“This is so cliché,” Auston bitches, but he’s close enough that their knees sort of brush whenever one of them shifts, doesn’t seem horribly phased by the forced proximity.

“It’s _awesome_ ,” Mitch says. “Like, literally, checks every box, it’s perfect.”

Auston snorts, but sits back and seems content enough to focus on the movie.

And, see:

It’s totally normal, which in itself is kind of- not _not_ normal, but not unremarkable, either, because sharing a bed with someone is pretty solid motivation to think things through, and Mitch keeps going back to the weirdness from when they were dancing earlier.

He’s figured it out, he’s pretty sure.

Auston’s acting weird because they’re friends. Or, like, they were friends before, but dancing and shit formally pushed them across the boundary from work-friends to friend-friends.

Mitch is pretty psyched about it. He figures some mild weirdness is probably a side effect of the work-friend to friend-friend transition, not the kind of thing that just vanishes; and that makes sense, ‘cause it explains why Auston keeps looking at him.

Not, like. Staring. Nothing like that, just these quick little glances as they watch the movie, and Mitch can see him doing it, but he also seems to be not looking at Mitch every time Mitch tries to make eye contact. First few times, maybe it’s an accident, but Mitch isn’t stupid.

“What?” he asks, pausing the movie.

Auston looks startled. “What what?”

“C’mon,” Mitch jostles him, playful, the way he thinks he’s allowed to do, as an official friend. “Do I have spinach in my teeth or something?”

“No,” Auston says, then, “I mean, maybe, I wouldn’t- I don’t know what your teeth situation is like.”  

Mitch laughs, more from surprise than anything, really, because he was teasing and expecting Auston to brush it off and be all sarcastic, but instead he’s like. Flustered?

Not that Auston gets flustered.

But.

It’s the friend thing. He’s freaked out about the friend thing.

 “We-” Mitch starts, at the same time that Auston says, “Earlier, I-”

They both stop.

“Sorry,” Mitch says, and Auston’s already shaking his head.

“No, my bad, you go.”

“Right,” Mitch says, and he kind of wants to chicken out, but he makes himself power through. “So I’m really glad we’re friends?” he says. “Like. I don’t actually know if we’re friend-friends or work friends, but. We’re friends, which is cool. It would suck being by myself, for something like this.” 

He doesn’t know what the look on Auston’s face means. It’s even more inscrutable than usual, and Mitch thought he was figuring out how to read him, but- he doesn’t know.

“What were you going to say?” he prompts, poking at Auston’s toes with his own. “Something about earlier...”

Auston looks at him a second longer, and then it’s like he’s waking up, shaking his head real fast. “It’s not important,” he says. Maybe pulls his toes back onto his own side of the bed, a little, which would make Mitch feel pretty bad if Auston didn’t smile at him, small but real, right after. “I’m really glad we’re friends too.”

“Friend-friends?” Mitch asks, and Auston sighs, does that thing where he’s pretending to be annoyed.

“Play the movie, Marner,” he says, and Mitch sticks out his tongue at him before hitting play.

 And he’s still getting weird vibes from Auston, a little, but it’s also just. Comfortable. _Nice_ , in this weird, quiet sort of way.

Friend-friends, Mitch decides. Definitely.

\---

Only then he wakes up the next morning and Auston is gone. Not, like, in-the-bathroom gone, or getting breakfast gone, because all his stuff is gone too, and his room key is on the dresser.

It’s- there’s no reason why Mitch should be offended. It’s not like walking out on a hookup, or like they were even going to drive back to the city together.

Still. Goodbye would’ve been nice, maybe.

It’s whatever.

\---

Like, for real. It’s whatever. Mitch doesn’t obsess about it the whole way home, and he trips and falls into a puddle for entirely unrelated reasons that don’t include being distracted thinking about getting abandoned.

Seriously. Whatever.

\---

Except-

It’s a week later, and Auston is being more awkward than usual, and fine, _fine_ , Mitch is fucking obsessing a little bit.

It doesn’t make _sense_. They were becoming friends, and it was easy and fun and good, and somehow it went from Mitch passing out on Auston’s shoulder to Auston talking in monosyllables the next three weddings they work together.

 _best man got drunk and tried to twerk on me_ , Mitch texts on Friday, extending what he hopes is an obvious olive branch.

It takes Auston forty minutes to reply, not that Mitch counts, and when he does it’s just with a _haha_. Mitch shouldn’t be thrown off by him not playing their dumb game.

Is, anyways.

_were ok right?_

_of course_ , Auston sends, almost right away, so that Mitch thinks he maybe was being paranoid, except Auston follows it up with _it’s not anything you did_. s _orry._

 _:) u owe me $5 matthews_ , Mitch sends. The smiley face feels like a lie, or maybe wishful thinking. He doesn’t feel very smiley face right now. He feels- fuckin’- he doesn’t know. Cow emoji, something lame and pathetic like that.

Auston doesn’t even respond, which pretty much confirms Mitch’s cow emoji emotional status.

He took things too far, probably. Auston wanted to be work friends, and Mitch friend-friended all over him, and rambled too long about his opinions on _Pride and Prejudice_ , and-

He messed it up.

\---

October starts with Mitch down one friend and still without anything even close to a magical romantic moment. The frantic pace of weddings slows down, now the weather’s cooler, so he doesn’t even have that to distract him.

He sees Auston at one wedding, avoids eye contact, and slips out of the chapel before they have to talk.

It’s a shitty month, is his point, and he’s barely even six days in.

 It’s a relief when Patty’s vow renewal thing comes around. Mitch’s head has been garbage, recently, and he needs to be happy for someone, and no one deserves that like the Marleaus. Because yeah, Patty’s technically his boss, but Mitch also lived on his couch for a couple weeks when he was looking for a place, and Christina’s like, the only person who will literally always agree to watch rom-coms with him, and he pretty much got to watch the kids grow up.

Today will be good, Mitch decides, and he’s not going to fall in love with anyone or befriend anyone, he’s just going to take a step back and- and it’ll be good.

It’ll be good.

The venue’s gorgeous, even though the weather’s starting to turn, all plush carpets and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at fountains and trees changing colour with fall. Mitch feels kind of underdressed in the Zellers dress pants he’s had since high school, but the Marleau kids don’t seem to mind, attack-hugging him all enthusiastic the second he gets through the door.

“Hey, guys!” He returns the kids’ hugs, and it’s genuine when he smiles, ‘cause he can’t not be happy around them. They’re all dressed up, little bow ties and all. Getting tall, which makes Mitch feel old. Less old, when Patty comes and ruffles his hair. “Congrats, you two.”

“You know you’re an invited guest, right?” Pat asks, nodding at Mitch’s notepad in his hand. “You don’t have to earn your keep.”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna,” Mitch says, and hugs Christina hello, quick. “You guys are going to have the best not-wedding writeup ever published.”

  “You’re sweet,” she says, straightening his tie. “I want to get pictures of you and the boys for the album, the photographer’s around here somewhere-”

“Good call on that one, Mitchy,” Patty says, and Mitch’s stomach _drops_ , like, roller-coaster style.

“Sorry, what?” Mitch asks, and an answer’s not even really necessary, at that point, because right by the entrance, lugging around his zillion bags of equipment, is-

“What’s he doing here?” Mitch asks, maybe a little high-pitched, ducking around to try and use Pat as a human shield so he won’t have to look at Auston.

“You always speak so highly of his work,” Patty says, a little bemused, and he’s not wrong, but also _why._

“Oh wow,” Mitch says, weak, and the mature part of his brain can recognize that Auston’s an absurdly talented photographer and there’s no reason why the Marleaus shouldn’t have hired him.

The much more immature, much louder part of his brain wants to know what the hell he did to deserve this. He was doing such a good job at taking a step back, too.

As if on cue, Auston turns around, catches Mitch’s eye, and undergoes, like, the single most intense face journey Mitch has ever encountered; just, this rapid-fire switch from shock to horror to _oh shit better be polite_. Most emotion he’s ever shown, probably, and Mitch’d chirp him for it, if they weren’t- whatever the fuck they are.  

Mitch waves.

Auston waves back, almost drops his camera.

“Patty,” Mitch says, under his breath. “Patty, I need you to murder me, please.”

“No thanks,” Patty says, easy. “Who else’d babysit for free?” 

Mitch is going to _explode_.

\---

He’s embarrassed and sad and maybe a little annoyed, but he’s also a professional goddamn reporter, so Mitch steels himself, downs two glasses of sparkling cider, and actually smiles at Auston the next time they bump into each other while everyone’s mingling.

“Hi,” Auston says, and he has the audacity to smile back, and Mitch was lying, he’s a lot annoyed.

“Matthews,” he says, about a million degrees colder than he usually would, and he can see Auston’s smile kind of falter.

“You’re mad,” he says.

Mitch can’t decide if he wants to laugh or cry, can’t fathom why he’s even feeling so much about this, but he is, and it sucks. “Getting ghosted tends to do that to a person, yeah.” It comes out closer to pathetic than mean, and Auston looks pained.

“I didn’t ghost you,” he says, “I didn’t- god, this is what I was trying not to do, I-” He breaks off, and he looks so distraught that Mitch wavers, a little.

“So what, then?” he asks. “You- was I overdoing it?”

“No,” Auston says, right away. “I mean, you just- you kept saying we’re friends, and I’m trying to interact with you as, like, a normal human but I keep fucking it up-”

And like, it’s not as if Mitch didn’t already know that, but it’s kind of shitty anyways, having someone he thought he was solid with basically say that Mitch was too much. Story of his fucking life.

“Sure,” Mitch says, and his voice doesn’t shake or anything, which he’s pretty proud of. “So we keep it professional, then.” He holds out a hand to shake. “Work friends?”  

It takes Auston a second to reach out and take Mitch’s hand. “Work friends,” he agrees, and he sounds fucking miserable, which- yeah, now Mitch is just kind of offended, because Auston apparently does not even want to be, like, cordial with him.

Fuck, next wedding season is going to be awkward. 

“Work friends,” Mitch echoes again, a little dumb, and then he’s getting ushered in for the ceremony, so he pulls his hand out of Auston’s grip and doesn’t look back.

\---

He does his job, because he always does his job, because his job’s about all he has, at this point.

“Tell me about when you met,” he requests. Christina’s kind of- glowing is a cliché, but it’s the truth, and it’s gotta be something special, to have that after more than a decade together.

She looks across the room, over to where Patty’s dancing with the kids. “You know, I don’t think I even remember. I saw him around the office a few times before we actually spoke.”

“And that first time you spoke,” Mitch says, still scrawling out her last answer on the page. “What did he say, that you knew he was the one?”

“Oh,” Christina says, and looks thoughtful. “He didn’t actually ask me out until a few weeks later. So- I liked him, of course, but it wasn’t a particular thing he said.”

 “Right,” Mitch says, patient. “But like. When was your moment, then? When you just knew?”

Christina kind of laughs. “Mitch,” she says, all mom-like, and Mitch looks at her, kind of wary.

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I’m going to give you the answer you’re looking for.”

“A good reporter doesn’t look for an answer,” Mitch says, automatic. “I just write what you tell me.”  

Christina puts a hand on his, kind. “Alright,” she says, and Mitch gets the feeling he’s being humoured. “How about this: It was slow.”

“Slow,” Mitch echoes, and she nods.

“Little things. He remembered what kind of ice cream I liked. Oh, and we’d talk for _ages_ , just about nothing. That’s- it was that, over time, until he was part of my life and I didn’t want him not to be ever again.”

And Mitch has been doing this for two years going on three, and he’s written tons of articles and spoken to tons more people about to be or just married. He writes love stories, it’s what he does, only- this isn’t a story. This is barely even anything, what Christina’s describing. It’s just normal stuff.  People just- people remember stuff about other people, that’s not romantic, that’s- Mitch remembers stuff easy, like his social insurance number and his address and that Auston likes baseball and dogs and Arizona. It’s normal.

Auston remembered that Mitch likes the Leafs, that one time.

Auston-

Mitch opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.

Auston talked to Mitch for ages. Texted, even when they didn’t have events together.

Mitch is gripping his notepad really tight, enough that the flimsy cardboard cover is starting to crease down the middle.

“That’s friend stuff,” he says, when he remembers that he’s supposed to be talking. “Right?”

“Right,” Christina agrees, and Mitch remembers to take a breath, because that’s something he needs to do.

“Right, so how can you say- that’s not a big romantic thing, Christina,” he says, and it’s kind of harsh, maybe, but Christina doesn’t look offended, just glances over at her family, then back at Mitch.

“It’s not,” she says, simple. “Maybe love is just. Quieter than all that sometimes, you know?”

Mitch doesn’t know. Mitch has been waiting to know his whole life, to find someone that he gets and that gets him right back, that person who’s just _his_ person, like in the movies, like- like swelling music and flower petals, someone who just fits like they’re supposed to be together-

“Oh,” Mitch says, so quiet he can hardly even hear himself.

Oh.

\---

Auston’s out in the gardens when Mitch finds him, balanced on the edge of one of the fountains and toying with his camera. He sees Mitch coming, keeps facing studiously the other way.

“Hi,” Mitch says, when he gets close.

“Hi,” Auston says.

Neither of them says anything else, for a little while.

“What’re you doing?” Mitch says, shoving his hands in his pockets so they won’t get cold. The wind’s blowing, leaves rustling in the trees.

Auston barely glances at Mitch, but he pauses, for a second. “I, uh. I’m trying to get the water in the frame, for portraits later. It does cool shit with the light.”

“That’s cool,” Mitch says, sincere, and Auston does this tentative little shrug, then goes back to looking through his viewfinder, a little bit like he’s hiding. 

He’s doing his focused face, concentrating all his attention on what he’s doing. Mitch wants to press his thumb to the little crease in Auston’s brow, because Auston’s good at what he does but he also cares about it like it’s the most important thing in the world, and Mitch just wants to stare at him and- and _learn_ him, memorize his face and figure out all the ways to make him smile.

God, he’s been so stupid.

“So hey,” Mitch says, casual as he can make it, because he doesn’t have a lot left to lose, at this point. “I think I might be in love with you.”

“You- ” Auston wheels around to gape at him, or he tries to, but it throws him off balance and, arms windmilling, he falls ass-first into the fountain.  

Mitch doesn’t really think before he’s clambering in after him. It’s like- clumsy, and awkward, because the edge of the fountain is at this weird height where he’s doing this half-drive half-climb thing, and he gasps once he hits the water because it’s fucking _freezing_ , but-

“I got you,” he says, and he’s got an arm on either side of Auston, steadying him as he splutters up for air. “I got you, hey, you’re-”

“I’m fine,” Auston says, even though his hair is dripping into his face and his expensive-ass camera is probably drowned. They’re both on their knees, and he’s staring at Mitch like he just confessed to having superpowers or something. “I just- I thought you said-”

“I did,” Mitch interrupts. “Or- I’m in love with you. Is what I said. Are you okay?” 

 “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Auston asks, as though his eyes aren’t still kind of bugging out and he doesn’t sound slightly hysterical.

Mitch shrugs, teeth chattering. “I mean. You kind of almost drowned.”

“The water’s, like. Two feet deep.” Auston says, dismissive, and he’s staring at Mitch so, so hard. “You’re in love with me?”

“Yes?” Mitch says, except that sounds like he’s unsure, and he’s really, really not. “It’s kind of- okay, so you’re my friend, but you’re also- I don’t like you the same way I like the rest of my work friends, like at all, and you’re kind of beautiful when you do that weird loud laugh? And when you get all excited about photographer shit, and I’m just- _happy_ when I’m around you.” He finishes all out of breath, and they’re just looking at each other, and- and it’s so cold, and they’re kneeling in a fountain, and Mitch is in _love_.

“I’m just happy with you,” he repeats. “You make me happy, and I fucking love making you happy, so I know it’s kind of out of nowhere, but if you want we could give it a- oh, you’re laughing. Okay.”

“Dude,” Auston says, and he’s shivering a little, but his eyes are shining. “Mitch, are you kidding-”

“What?” Mitch asks. “No, obviously-”

“If you think,” Auston talks over him, “that I haven’t been stupid in love with you for two entire years, you’re an idiot.”

“Oh,” Mitch says, and it takes him a second, because Auston did technically just insult him, which is very Auston; but then it clicks, and then- “Wait, what?”

Auston’s beaming at him, smiling ear-to-ear, and Mitch’s whole brain is just- what?

“So wait,” he says, “wait, so you didn’t want me to not text you?”

“That was a terrible sentence,” Auston says, because he’s being judgey about grammar now, because of course he is.  “I’m so- I always want you to text me, I thought I was being too obvious and making you, like, uncomfortable-”

“Oh my god,” Mitch says, and he sits back, exhaling like he just ran a race, and it turns into a laugh. He’s so, so relieved, doesn’t even know what to do with himself. “Dude,” he says, and Auston splashes him, gentle.

“Can’t believe you jumped in the fountain, Marner,” Auston chirps, laughing.  

“Can’t believe you _fell_ in the fountain, Matthews,” Mitch counters, and splashes him back, decidedly un-gentle. Everything feels sort of surreal, tinged with light. “I win.” 

“Call it a tie?” Auston offers, holding out a hand to help Mitch up. “Best two out of-”

Mitch grabs Auston’s tie, tugs him down, and kisses him, hard.

It’s not the greatest kiss. Not remotely movie-esque, and probably kind of terrible, actually, because Auston’s half on top of him and they’re both drenched in coldass fountain water in October and Mitch’s nice wedding shoes are probably ruined and there’re maybe a hundred dollars worth of pennies and nickels digging into his knees.

It’s pretty magical, anyhow.

**Author's Note:**

> some people???? channel feelings into sports fanfiction based on newspaper articles??? to cope??????


End file.
